


May Sunrise Bring Hope Where Once Forgotten

by GreenGhoul



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, For the real ones who turned away when Mando's face was revealed, I'm Bad At Summaries, Like really slow, Slow Burn, This Is My City Now Disney
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenGhoul/pseuds/GreenGhoul
Summary: A Story About Growth, Family, and Understanding.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Strangers In A Strange Land

The hills of sand on the desert plains of Arvala-7 meet like waves that have long crashed and settled into unmovable shapes. Where the ocean rocks and rages with a force that demands change, everything here stands as still as a picture. Barren, passive, a snapshot of something larger, something distant. It was hard to imagine, despite it all, that life finds a way to bury itself in the scorching sand. Blooming like seeds in dirt made for flowers and other pretty things, not the harsh life that sprouts from a desire to be so far from civilization, that you make a ghost of yourself in the process. And yet, life finds a way. 

In the heat, in the empty, in the western winds blowing harshly against the fabric of a tightly wrapped cowl, in the soft cotton of a mother’s scarf resting over the mouth of a daughter far from home. In the tang of the dry heat that settles on her tongue. Here it is. The beauty of a stubborn life lived, and still living. In the resolve still pushing even if it’s settled downwards from firm shoulders to shaky knees. Even if it’s with a stumble, life finds a way to stand. Still and unmoving as it is, peaceful in its own way. 

Here and now, Solana watches from the flattened top of a jagged sculpture in the middle of a motionless sea, and sees beyond the desolate and dormant, where life finds a way, as a great wave to wash over these strange plains and demand a change. 

____

For the past three days since Solana had docked her ship on this wayward planet, all she could do was watch. Her days ended as they began, the heated air humming around her head as she wondered when the view from her electrobinoculars would give in and show her the change she wanted. Many forms of life came and left, attracted to this singular outpost much like she was, like moths to a slowly growing flame. Each with as much flare as clamor to disturb the natural quiet of this world, but neither with the luck and skill to fully strike the match. But when the sun sets on yet another failed attempt, she knows the only ones left to judge them are the stars, and when a new day rises, like her they too can only bring themselves to watch and wait. 

What exactly she was waiting for remained consistently unclear. However, long did not pass for her to realize that she wasn’t the only one in search of the valuable asset hidden behind metal doors and an army of Nikto mercenaries. More importantly, it had become alarmingly clear that these were no mere mercenaries themselves hired to wipe out the compound of troublesome intruders who had made a home in a land that did not welcome them. Every single one, different as they were in appearance and personality, carried the same black box glowing red with a light like a beacon that could only mean one thing. A whole league of Bounty Hunters stood in the way of her mission, and whoever had put out the bounty must’ve promised a big enough reward to make sure they kept coming. 

This was a problem related to time and substance, and she had begun to realize just how limited her options were. Was it a success she wanted? A clear compound, dust settling on a static battlefield with nothing but a singular opposition left to cross in the way of a prize they both wanted? Was it easier to face a singular victor, or the army of potential yet-to-be victims? One mind was hard enough to sway, and a mob was just too risky. Especially when said mobs collective understanding was that anyone who wasn’t an insider, was a problem with only one solution. 

Solana knew her chances of a successful mission were more plausible when she already knew her enemy and what said enemy was after. It didn’t matter if one by one the bounty hunters came, dwindling the army of mercenaries down for the next to take a chance at. What mattered was time, waiting for that singular victor that managed to clear the compound. What mattered was substance, how much they would take from her before they’d be convinced that her success could be their own too. While the heat waves settling over the distant compound begin to obscure her vision the longer she stares, one thing was abundantly clear. While these Bounty Hunters tracked a life they could stick a price to, she knew the real value laid hidden in that fortress, where the thickness of its walls did nothing to hinder the steady pulse at her fingers that had nothing to do with her own blood. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if they felt it too. The Nikto soldiers as they followed their daily routines, that hooded guard on the left tower walking his same five steps forward, spinning on his heels just to walk those same steps back. She wonders if he too feels the shift in the air, like a subtle taste of metal on the tongue just before a big storm. Do they know what they were protecting, or were they just unlucky smugglers caught in a plan too large for them to comprehend? Solana was struggling with the in’s and out’s of it all herself, how the being had gotten here, who beyond her own people had the knowledge of their presence and the resources enough to make the effort of obtaining them. When she had left her homeworld, an eager devotee ready to fulfill her duty, she had not been prepared for the struggles that awaited her on this journey. But as she watches with confusion as that same tower guard trips over his third and final spin in alarm, she knows that she wasn’t the only one stumbling blindly into a story she couldn’t even begin to predict. 

Solana’s eyes search and find the cause of the guards misstep, finds the answer in the loud clunks of metal footsteps as they echo through the valley. She can’t help but huff an air of laughter through the thin veil of her scarf, shaking her head as an even louder, and equally mechanically automated voice announces itself with all the demanding presence that one of his profession should possess. Artificial or living, the bounty hunters were all the same. While this IG-Unit lacked the subtlety of most, she knew even the heavy garrison of weapons at its arsenal would not do much to make up for a missing element of surprise. This was all just boiling down to another wasted day. 

She contemplates the possibility of just running down there herself, not even a second thought in the air of confusion of bullets and yelling, and grabbing the being herself with a hasty retreat. Here on the hill, far away from the chaos, it seemed so easy. She knew their routine, knew that the silence that had settled over the compound was just the first step of a strategic retreat, that the second wave of attack was what always bested even the toughest looking of the infamous guild members. If she planned it right, maybe she could-

But the thought doesn’t even have time to fester into action, and Solana only gets as far as pushing herself up on her knees when in the silence of the Nikto retreat, she hears a new voice.

From her angle here on the hill, she can hardly see them. Nothing but the sheen of an iron armor peeking in an out of view as a voice attempts to reason with the droid as if a battlefield was built for business deals. It’s only when the IG-Unit steps forward, that she fully understands the opportunity that’s presented. Only then does the spark of anticipation that has long settled at the pit of her stomach begin to rise again, the tingling at her fingers urging her to move into action. 

When the second wave of attackers come, she can no longer see them, and in the blindness she wonders if she had ever really seen them at all. The ghost in a shell made of stories, legends passed on of a time long before the Empire and the Republic, legends that carried their weight through time till today. Solana wondered if the figure fighting down below knew just how strange it was to find them here. A stranger in a strange land in which she shared more in common with than she’s sure they could imagine. 

Truth was it wasn’t the glory and the fame that drew her to quickly gather what little of her belongings laid scattered around, it wasn’t the undoubtedly useful and honed skill-sets that pushed her to a sure, and steady pace down the rocky inclines of her well acquainted hill, towards a warrior she, without a doubt, knew could complete this mission where others had failed. Despite the danger, despite the reward, despite the steely gaze that awaited her once the dust had settled, Solana did not hesitate. After all, her people had always told her fear was the beginning of wisdom, and those teachings echo in her mind like whispers from a home she knew by memory alone. They were two specters, as dead to the world as they were to each other. How rare it was for two ghosts to meet in the light. 

_______

The air in the compound is tainted with an electric buzz leftover from overspent blaster rounds. Dust and sand swirl with the steady desert winds as Solana takes her first steps into the leftover wreckage of a battle won, and she wonders if it'll ever get a chance to settle or if the remnants of what happened here will stain these walls for many days to come. It’s a harsh thing to look at, and an even harsher thing to smell. Bodies line the floor with charred wounds, and even the walls turn ashy black where they had been caught in the crossfire. Death was always ugly, even if it was necessary. No, necessity wasn’t what brought them here, in another life, in another time, there might have been another way. Instead what this battlefield shows was the result of two opponents who had looked on different paths of life, and had come to a mutual understanding. Solana couldn’t help but wonder which of the two paths she was accepting as she continued to walk on. 

In the quiet aftermath, she makes careful movements towards the only place where sound still remains. By the difference in voices she knows both bounty hunters had survived, the mechanical voice distinguishable from that of the muffled, modulated voice of its companion in tone alone. She creeps forward and listens as they search for their prize in a room she had yet to see the insides of, the beeping of their shared tracking fob intensifying as they grew closer, and closer, and-

“I sense the presence of a life form.” The IG-Unit announces, and Solana has to hold her breath before she realizes it wasn’t talking about her. The breath leaves her then in a rush as she hears the intensified beeping of their fob grow into an annoying and instantly steady stream of noise. It stops and she knows they have found what they had been looking for. 

Solana peers from what little remains of the blasted metal door, where the wires from a failed attempt at hacking through, spark with as much intensity as the scene that plays before her. She couldn’t see the being, covered behind two towering figures both plated with equal amounts of armor as they were, but as the pulsing in her fingers began to drum its way to her heart, she understands she doesn’t have to see to know. 

“It’s a child.” The statement comes from the bounty hunter in the form of a question, and Solana realizes its the first time she’s truly heard their voice. It wasn’t as rough as she expected it to be, and even less sure of itself, especially now. Still, it wasn’t the voice that drew her forward, watching as his tense form relinquishes itself into uncertainty, to the hesitation one feels when presented with a choice. 

“Species age differently.” The droid responds, as mechanical and cold as its nature was programmed to be. Before its next words come out, Solana moves forward, a single step in tune with her hand as it reaches for her strapped blaster. 

“The asset is to be terminated.” 

Her hand rises alongside the droids own, a blaster aimed for its pointed head with a reluctant intent to kill. She didn’t want it to be this way, and the bounty hunter must’ve known what she sensed too, because a blaster shot is fired before the thought finishes firing through the neural synapses of her own mind, and the droid falls with a loud crash. Only it wasn’t her gun brandishing a trail of smoke. 

“Put down your blaster.” The rough tone of the last remaining victor addresses her now, but only by voice. He does not turn to look at her, helm transfixed on the presence of the child before him, head tilted, and his own blaster raised in position as if waiting for her to decide its next step of action. 

“You first.” Solana musters as much courage as she can, though she can’t deny the sudden shake in her voice. She was willing to die, here and now, for her cause, and oh how her opponents history spoke the same. 

Her hands shake, and despite his turned back, she wonders if he sensed it. Her hesitation to do harm. Most importantly, she thinks, as the bounty hunter lowers his arm, stuffing the blaster where it was safe and ready in its holster, he never viewed her as a threat. 

Out of respect, she lowers her weapon too. Stuffing it in her own holster at her thigh where she hoped she wouldn’t need it. Her eyes are trained on the figure before her all the while, watching as his hands reach outward, his head tilts once more, and almost as if he could sense her own fingers twitch again, he finally turned to face her. 

“I’m not a bounty hunter.” Solana quickly clarified with the same exhale of breath that leaves her once it fully hits her that she was face to face with a legend. 

His helmet tilts downwards, only slightly so. Still it’s in sharp contrast with the way her eyes rake over him, and when he responds she knows their actions speak the same intent.

“I know.” He states, simple and without movement.

Solana tries to read him but despite his minor movements, and the fact that he has yet to do away with her the way he’s done the others in his path, speaks nothing of his overall intentions. So, again, she does what she knows best, and takes her chance with reason. 

“Then you know I mean you no harm.” But the man doesn’t respond to words, so she shows him with action. Disarms herself in the only way she can now. Solana’s hands grip around the tightly wrapped fabric of her cowl, pushing it down from her head, and unwrapping it to reveal her face. Where before stood nothing but the mere anonymity of shaded eyes, now a clear sincere and vulnerable nakedness. She takes a step forward, and he lets her.

“I too come looking for the child.” Solana begins, the mission she’d been set on so close to completion now, so close she can feel the soothing call of the force that brought her here closing in around her. _Halam’shivanas,_ she would see her duty to its rightful end. “The child’s safety means more to me than you can imagine, if it’s payment you seek, I’ll pay it. If you too are duty-bound, then let me follow on your journey. Perhaps your employers can be reasoned with.” 

“I wouldn’t count on it.” The Bounty Hunter responds, and Solana’s own curiosity peaks, not just at his sarcastic tone but the implication of his words. She wants to ask him what he meant, but almost as if he could hear her thoughts he changes the subject in a refusal to clarify. “How do I know I can trust you?” 

Solana doesn't waste her time with words, she knows they are meaningless to a man of his profession. Even the most sincere of tones could hide deceit, and as her teeth nibble impulsively on the dry skin of her bottom lip, she looks for a way to prove her honor. Her hands come forward in a universal sign of surrender, her eyes are trained on the metal cuffs that dangle beside the pristine shine of his armor. 

“You don’t have to.” She responds, and without much hesitation does he understand her meaning. 

The bounty hunter follows her steps to completion, moving forward with his open cuffs in hand. He does not grab her hands with force, she hasn’t given him a reason to. Still, when the rough leather of his gloves touch her skin, the only cold she feels comes from the metal bars that latch at her wrist, and even that hardly has a chance to linger. Solana tries not to stare as he continues securing her trust, removing her blaster from her thigh, and the electric staff tied around her chest. He claims it all as his own, searching discreetly, courteously, for any missing pieces. He finds a knife tucked in her worn-leather boots, and stands to full attention. Still her eyes linger curiously, matching where she imagines his own analyze her intentions behind the T-Shaped void of his visor. In between their gazes lies the unspoken question that holds the room in a perpetual silence. 

_Who are you?_

The answer never has a chance to settle, much like the ash and sand mixing with the smell of blood in the wind just outside the door. The Mandalorian turns away from her, and only when the sounds of a soft cooing filters through, gently coaxing away the quiet, does she turn too. 

Oppositely, her head veers to the center-point of this planets universe, the gravitational pull that has brought so many to a once still, desolate world. Wide, clear eyes stare back at her from the safe covers of a carefully made cloth, and in them Solana sees the willing change she has been searching for. 


	2. Unlikely Allies

The Mandalorian had never been a man of many words. When he did speak, he spoke carefully, never revealing more than intended, and always to the quick and sharpened point. Words were weapons with double-edges and slippery handles, and he had always preferred his tactical methods with more directional results. But his lack of dialogue did not follow with a lack of respect for those who hid their intentions behind wit and brevity, where he hid behind tough armor and hardened fists. Different tactics can lead to the same results. So when the Bounty Hunter comes across a puzzling opponent whose pension for chatter weighed in equal measure to his silence, he knew he’d only ever really understand them if he found the right way to listen. 

But the Stranger speaks in multitudes. Ever since he had reluctantly allowed her to accompany his bounty, she had done everything in her power to remind him of her intruding presence. She had a method of only revealing so much about herself in a hopeful exchange to learn more about him, or more accurately, the people that had hired him. And when her efforts were met with a solid wall of silence, so did she in turn build walls. Hiding behind an implied shared-curiosity over the unexpected Child in their care. Only when it came to the Child, she didn’t turn to him with questions, merely recited internal dialogue hoping to ease an imaginary tension. Still, that subtle change in tone, the way she had lost the need for his unattainable reassurance, answered questions that had been mulling through his mind since he had spotted her prying form on the hilltops over the compound he had cleared.

The Mandalorian may not have known the woman’s name, profession, or why her eyes shone an almost amethyst shade that seemed to only intensify in the dwindling light, and why the white-painted markings on her face were as intricate as the accessories that subtly decorated her armor and hair. But he did know that despite how openly she seemed to display herself, she hid more secrets than he was comfortable with, and a knowledge about this situation that he was just beginning to see the edges of. Despite the metal bands interlocking her wrists, or the fact that he now carried the very few weapons she possessed, she was starting to seem less of a prisoner to his company the more their time went by. 

However that theory doesn’t fully begin to actualize until hours into their long trek back to the Razor Crest. The Child coos along to her ramblings about how she’d have to check it’s vital signs once they were secure, how being cramped in that tiny white crib was no way for someone so small to live, and the Mandalorian, for as much as he agrees, hardly pays it any mind. 

The Stranger talks to the Child as if it understood each and every word, and the final last words of the IG-unit he had shot a scorching hole through reflects back at him in his thoughts. _Species age differently_ . He had to remind himself that, for as small as this creature was, it had already lived more life than he has or even possibly, _would._ He had to remind himself that this was just another job, and he couldn’t afford to let himself believe otherwise.

The trio ventures in between the jagged edges of two walls of rocks, the Stranger and Child both enamoured over the native tiny creatures that had gathered around them. Brown and beady eyes watching from their hidden homes almost as if they too couldn’t help but stare at the abnormality that was their presence together. It’s then that the Stranger speaks, her words sparking his interest enough to break his concentration. Enough that he doesn’t register the danger growing around them before it’s already too late. 

“ _Da’lin_ ,” The foriegn word tumbles from her mouth followed by an enthusiastic laughter. “You have yet to say a word, but you already speak the language of the universe.” The Child reflects her laughter with a high pitched one of its own, and the creatures at their feet move all the more closer, as if their shared enthusiasm carried a gravitational pull alone. 

Even the Mandalorian finds himself turning, helmet tilting to watch three more creatures scurry past his own feet just so they too can catch a glimpse at the strange green infant staring down at them. 

_Language of the universe_ , he thinks, and wonders at the underlying meaning. Despite his sturdy walls he finds himself peeking through holes, and just as he’s about to break his oath of silence, the creatures freeze, scattering away as quickly as they came. 

A soft _thunk_ echoed through the valley as the Mandalorian stops in place, the Stranger so lost in her own world with the Child that she walks head-first into the heated metal at his back. He doesn’t even flinch, not even when she shoves him back in return. The bounty hunter holds his ground, saying nothing but raising a finger in her direction when he thinks he hears the soft scuffing of feet on sand that had nothing to do with the remainder of his party. When his hand twitches towards the blaster at his side, she too picks up on the danger stirring around them. 

The Mandalorian is only quick enough to shove both of his impaired companions out of harm's way when the gang of Nikto soldiers descends upon them, and the sacrifice for his impulse to protect manifests in a deep cut to his arm where one of their swords had managed to catch him. 

With nothing more than a grunt for the pain, he quickly recovers, blocking their attacks as they turn their attention exactly where he wanted it. Solely on him. He rids himself of one quickly enough, but has little time to catch his breath when another shortly follows. In the confusion of the rumble, he had hardly noticed the third of the group gain its wits, running away from the challenge to focus its attention on the real prize. 

It’s in that moment that he truly sees the Stranger for who they are. Not the defenseless woman stumbling on the remains of a still smoking battlefield, with arms stretched out in search of mercy. Things were never that simple, he realizes. Never so clean.

As the Nikto mercenary rushes a direct line towards the defenseless Child, sword raised with one singular intent, it isn’t the success of a completed bounty that meets its razor-edge. Instead, a sharp clash rings throughout the valley, the Stranger quick to stand on her feet, blocking the mercenary’s attack with the one thing the Mandalorian had expected to be a deterrent, not a cleverly concealed weapon. 

The metal bands that had made her a prisoner block the incoming attack, splitting apart with a hiss and a spark. The Nikto doesn’t have a moment to regain his senses, the Stranger doesn’t allow it as she quickly grabs for his weapon with her now loose hands, spins it to her advantage and shoves the mercenary harshly to his knees. The Mandalorian’s own opponent had, at this point, long ago met his end, and he finds himself pointing his rifle at the last attacker, and incinerating what little was left of its pride with the pull of a trigger before the Stranger can think to finish the deed. His anger now, with nowhere to settle except the only other person besides him still holding a weapon. 

“Drop it!” The Mandalorian warns, his sights now on the Stranger as he marches over to where she stands. She does as she’s told without any hesitation, hands raised in surrender as if that had any sort of meaning anymore. 

Through his own heavy breathing he can hear the beeping of the tracking fob the final Nikto was carrying. He crushes it beneath his feet and by the time he reaches the Stranger he’s close enough for her breath to fog up the metal of his helm. But she doesn’t step back, merely matches his intimidation with indifference. 

“Did you know they were coming?” 

“I had suspected there would be more of them.” The Stranger clarifies, eyes squinting up at his visor in what he can’t decipher as determination or defiance. “You didn’t think you were the only one sent for this bounty, did you? Or are you really trying to ask me if this was some kind of ploy to escape?” 

"Was it?” He can’t stop himself from asking, even if what he really wants to know is how many _more_ we’re coming, wants to know why so much danger and resources were being spent on something so small, so defenseless. He wants to know what she knows, but he doesn’t have the words, just the growing paranoia in his head and one singular person to blame it on. 

The Stranger shakes her head, slow and holding his stare all the while. There’s a pause between them, she steps back and clicks her tongue as if a realization just came over her. “You’re feeling betrayed, Mandalorian, but that feeling is misplaced.” She states more than questions, dusting her hands off and shaking away the leftover strain from her binds. “I have not lied to you. I told you I was here to protect the Child, nothing more, nothing less. And since it seems you have no desire to risk its life either, for the time being, that makes us allies.” 

“Far from it.” The Mandalorian corrects, anger dwindling but still stubbornly clinging despite his best efforts. 

The Stranger doesn’t frown, doesn’t react to his words, and he almost wishes she would give him the glimpse into her intentions he’d been hoping for. She wears her open face like any other mask.

It’s only when she remembers the presence of the Child beside her, monitoring their minor argument with curious eyes and a whimper, that it slips, face lighting up with a smile. Maybe, despite his embedded need for vigilance, her intentions were always as clear as she said. 

The Stranger turns to the Child then, loose hands out-reaching with a want to comfort. “Are you afraid, Little One?” It’s a reminder of her loose hands that cause the Mandalorian to grunt in disapproval, and those hands return to their sides reluctantly. A huff of annoyance leaves her then, but when she turns back to the Child it’s with lightness. 

Her head tilts and she continues talking. “Fear is good, _Da’lin_.” The words come out much like those of a mentor, with just enough hidden sternness that demands to be heard. “It is the beginning of wisdom-” She urges, but her tone shifts once again, and as her last words leave her, he can’t help but wonder who exactly she was trying to teach. 

“And we _all_ have plenty yet to learn.” 

The words echo in the valley as they do in his own thoughts, and the Stranger walks forward, almost as if she knows it. Almost as if she too knows the line crossed for removing her cuffs would now be paid with the insistence that she be kept an eye on. She finds her place in his direct line of sight, but as she walks forward, its her words that yet again convince him, that her role as his prisoner was merely that. _A_ _role_. 

“The sun is beginning to rest.” The Stranger announces, eyes trained on the meshed colors of dark orange and light reds that have begun to paint the sky. “We should too.” 

And as the Mandalorian turns to find the Child looking up at him with its head tilted in anticipation, the desire to argue his authority vanishes. A deep exhale leaves him, he turns, and without a fight-

The Mandalorian follows.

_________

The night had just begun to fully envelope the desert planet when they found a suitable spot to construct their make-shift camp. Without the sun’s heat, the winds reach them all the more harshly, and the small canister of heated light that the Mandalorian had placed at the center of their loosely established circle, is as beneficial at combating the dark as it is at providing heat. Which is to say, for one person closely huddled around its source, it would have been enough, but the Mandalorian’s party had grown significantly since he’d last had a need for the device, and for a party of three, it might as well be as insignificant as the many stars now shining above them. 

Still, it is enough light for what he needs, shifting his frame slightly so the orange hue highlights what his body was already alerting him of with every wave of sudden and sharp pain. He pulls the torch tool from his belt, not exactly the Bacta-patch he was hoping for, but it would be enough to cauterize the wound and let it heal naturally. His body already had so many scars, what was one more to the collection. 

The Stranger is up and stretching her tired muscles, back turned from him and watching where the moon’s light reaches the distant horizon when he begins his work. The humming sound of the tool wasn’t enough to turn her attention, but before he presses the burning tip to his skin, he finds the Child watching him with curious eyes. 

The Mandalorian tries his best to conceal the pain filled grunts that leave him once the device makes contact, partially for the sake of their continued security, and partially for his own need for privacy. But the scorching pain overcomes his usually alert senses, and before he has the time to fully appreciate it, his privacy vanishes with the sounds of tiny approaching footsteps only halted by a pair of quick hands and a lightly reprimanding voice.

“Save your energy, _Da’lin_.” The Stranger tsks, and when he looks up from his wound he finds the Child out of his crib, and being led back to it in her arms. The Child whines as he’s settled down, arms outstretched not for the Stranger, but reaching out to where the Mandalorian sits. 

“I know, I know.” The Stranger soothes, and when she turns to look at him now, he wonders yet again just how much she understands of this Child. “He wanted to help.” She answers his silent question. 

“How do you know?” The Mandalorian asks, watching as she takes the empty space on the rock beside him, eyes trained on his open wound. 

“You saved its life.” She reminds him, searching through a pouch at her belt. “It’s only natural to want to return the favor.” 

“Not in my experience.” He protests, eyes now catching the metal glint of a circular jar in her hands.

“No?” She questions, a light smile on her face as she props the tin open. “Maybe you need some new experiences.” 

The Mandalorian can see the substance of the jar now, a luminescent powder that doesn't need the glow of his pathetic camplight to shine. The Stranger sets the product on her thigh, removes the fingerless gloves on her hands, and washes her hands off with water from the canteen on her side. A little drop of that water is placed in the jar, and when she looks at him again she simply outstretches her empty hand. 

“May I borrow your torch?” 

“What is that?” He doesn’t answer her question, but curiosity has him handing her the tool anyways.

“Medicine.” She says, lighting the flame at the bottom of the canister for a few seconds, and mixing the powder with her finger till it becomes a soft jelly. “It will cauterize your wound less painfully than this fire, and it’ll heal just the same as any Bacta-patch. Maybe even better.” She winks. 

And as she moves forward to apply the product, he can’t help but tense up. The Stranger stills her movements and squints her eyes up at the visor of his mask, he didn’t need to say it. She knows he doesn’t trust her. 

He watches as she takes her covered finger and sticks the product on her tongue with mirth in her eyes. “See, no poison.” She closes her mouth and the teasing quickly dissipates with a shudder and a shake of her head. 

“Though I wouldn’t recommend eating it.” 

The Mandalorian huffs an air of amusement through his modulator, and the apprehension he was feeling leaves too. The Stranger leans forward again, and this time his arm follows too. 

He tries not to flinch the second her fingers settled over the length of his arm, and the cool feeling of the product is spread over the first half of his wound, but his arm still lightly spasms involuntarily in her steady grip. The Stranger doesn’t coo at him like she would the Child, and for that he’s grateful. Her reassurance comes as a sturdier grip on his arm, and a determination to get the job done. 

“You Mandalorians commit yourselves so fully to everything. Especially when you fight, your bodies are as much a weapon as your guns.” The Stranger speaks, and only when the sentence finishes does she turn away from her equally finished work on his arm to gaze up at him curiously. But her eyes aren’t trying to find his own behind his visor, merely scanning, observing the helmet on his head. They trail back down to his arm, and her fingers reach upwards to knock against the metal frame of his beskar pauldron.

“More important than your guns.” 

The Mandalorian doesn’t know what to say to that statement, because there wasn’t much _to_ say. He couldn’t argue with it, nor did she pose it as something to be argued with. Merely an observation, something they’d both been guilty of. Still, for as common as the legends of his people were, the many wars won with the Beskar armor she was referring to, wars and legends she had no doubt heard about. He still had not one clue as to her own origins, her own stories and traditions like the ones so clearly displayed on her face. 

But the Mandalorian doesn’t know what to say, trained in his profession not to ask questions. So, instead he says what he always does, because there was no better way of doing so. 

“This is the way.” 

“So it is.” The Stranger returns, without that sequence of debate that so often followed any discussions of his customs. She nods and accepts his words for what they are, no inkling of disagreement on her face. He can’t help but feel surprisingly relieved. 

Her fingers leave him with the completed work, and as she begins to put her materials away he can already feel the pleasant warmth take over where the pain once was. Before his eyes does the product begin to harden into something like a second layer of skin. 

“My people,” She continues talking, and his attention finds its way back to her instantly. “Our ways are not so different from yours, we too dedicate ourselves completely to our path. Only, where yours may lead you to fight, ours leads us to discussion. I wasn’t trained with the intent to do harm when I am confronted, only to disarm and protect.” 

“You were gonna shoot the IG-Unit.” He reminds her. Even if she had hesitated, he could feel the tension rising from behind him. It was just rising a bit too _slow_ for his liking. 

“The IG-Unit was as much a weapon as your blaster, I was merely ... _putting the safety on_.” The Stranger explains, stumbling over her words in a way that made him feel that maybe she wasn’t always as sure of herself as she made herself out to be. 

The Mandalorian almost laughs. “You don’t have to excuse yourself. _I’m_ the one that shot it.” 

“And for that I’m grateful.” The Stranger agrees. “The truth is I wasn’t quite sure about my intentions. It’s like I said, I wasn’t trained to do harm, using that blaster then, it would have been the first time.” 

"The first time?” The Mandalorian can’t help but repeat. He had an inkling she wasn’t as trained in combat as most bounty hunters, at least not when he had met her at the compound, her hand shaking and eyes alert at their confrontation. It reminded him of the many Foundlings under his clan’s care, reminded him of his own distant memories of his first training. But the way she displayed herself in the valley spoke otherwise. That woman that had shown herself then had moved in a fluidity not even most trained Mandalorians could repeat. 

“Can I show you something?” The Stranger questions, and before he can ask her what she means, he follows the trail of her eyes to her confiscated blaster by his side. Hesitation finds its way back to him naturally. “I wouldn’t have spent such a good effort patching you up just to fill you with holes again.” 

Couldn’t argue with that logic, even if he didn’t know her intentions. Besides, even with the display from the valley, he was still fairly certain he could take her if needed. The blaster finds its way from his side, into her hands, and she nods a silent appreciation as she turns it over. 

“See.” The Stranger speaks with confidence, as if he could really see anything but an, albeit well-conditioned, blaster. His confusion must be more obvious than he thought. “No marks, no wear, up until this morning this blaster had only ever seen the inside of my holster. In fact, I’d be willing to bet good credits if I took a shot at your camp-light, I’d be no better aim than a Storm-Trooper.” 

“That’s uh,” The Mandalorian restrains his amusement with a cough, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s saying a lot.” 

“That is why it must be said.” The Stranger laughs, no sense of a loss in pride over her confession. “My staff, on the other hand-” She points at the metal rod constructed of different metal scraps and leather-binds long worn from her grip. A step above a basic bludgeoning tool in only its addition of electrical wiring connected to a button that when pressed, leaned the device more towards an elongated taser than anything of real damage. He was beginning to see what this conversation was about. 

“Well, it’s like I told you, Mandalorian. I mean you no harm.” The words come out sincerely, the confession and genuineness to her smile sets him at an ease that has him, for the first time, believing what she says. 

It was hard to. The Ugnaught had been different, he had made his interests clear, and while they may have benefited his own, they didn’t tangle themselves entirely. It was hard for the Mandalorian to believe a stranger whose interests were practically his own, but whose mission was shrouded in so much mystery he was walking alongside her blindly. But he had forgotten she was walking alongside him too, just as blind. Trust went both ways, and he would not so easily overlook the guiding hand with which she had reached out to him. 

The Stranger doesn’t wait for a response from him, she had said what she needed to, and that would have been enough. It wasn’t, not when she had taken the time to treat his wounds, to accommodate his orders, and alleviate his paranoia. Not when, even after her confession, she’s still handing over her blaster as if she was more scared of its potential than he was.

“T-Thank you-” The Mandalorian begins, but he realizes just as quickly, how improper his gratitude sounded without the direction of a name. 

“Solana.” She supplies him, her lips upturning with a smile of understanding. 

“ _Solana_.” He repeats, marking it to his memory. This time when he speaks, he doesn't stutter. 

“Thank you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'lin- Child, Young Person


	3. The Language of The Universe (Part 1)

A new day begins, and for as much progress as Solana believes she’s made, all it took was the viewpoint from yet another hilltop to remind her of just how much distance yet stood in between her and the completion of her goals. She was starting to believe Arvala-7 really was just a planet made out of stagnation, life carved into rocks with no where else to go. One could keep walking and walking, and the only measure for distance would be by the weight of accumulated sand in one’s boots. On this hill, her boots had never been heavier. 

Still, she couldn’t ignore progress, even if it wasn’t the kind she had been originally hoping for. At some point in the strangeness of last night, the build-up of her past days on this planet must’ve caught up with her, working together with the quiet of the stars, and the cool desert breeze to lull her into a well-needed nap. When the warmth of the rising sun’s rays stirred her back into consciousness, she had startled herself into a panic, waking with a jolt and expecting to have found herself stranded with nothing but the morning light to highlight her naive mistake. Instead when she sits up, her knees had bumped into the metal rod of her staff laid out beside her, sending it into a roll that was only paused by the weight of her still pristine blaster. When confusion settles, and she finally looks upwards for answers, it’s the Mandalorian that stands in their place instead. She finds his silent nod was all the reassurance she needed. 

Solana may have found herself still standing on a hill much like the start of her journey, but at least this time she wasn’t standing alone. However, when she looks at the situation forming at the bottom of their view, she can’t help but feel like she’d trade what little progress she made to be looking on at a compound of mercenaries instead of  _ this _ . 

“How did they get past your ground safety protocols?” Solana speaks for the first time since they left their makeshift camp. She’s adjusting the straps of her returned staff and squatting beside the Mandalorian as he eyes the gathering of Jawa’s that have made a grand profit out of the innards of his ship. 

“They didn’t.” Is all he lets slip, and although his tone hides the depth of his frustration, it’s the incinerated corpse of the unlucky  _ thieving womp-rat,  _ that had been too busy lugging the metal frame of a control panel to notice his flying bullet, that really summarizes the situation for her. 

“ _ Oh _ .” Solana’s realization breaks through like the sound of the Mandalorian’s bullets piercing the desert silence. The Jawa’s begin to scatter, a few shots flying in retaliation, and at risk of erasing the little bit of companionship they had established, she tries her best to muffle the laughter that spills out of her. Even with all the noise, he still finds a way to hear her. 

The Mandalorian’s concealed heated gaze turns away from his rifle, and settles directly on her. Under its pressure, Solana’s hands fly up pathetically in feign innocence as she begins to  _ apologize _ . “Sorry, Sorry It’s just…..  _ Sand. Jawas. _ Pretty self-explanatory.” 

She gets nothing but an annoyed grunt in response, and when they both return their gazes to the mess of screaming scavengers, they find his rash delivery of justice is met with nothing less than a swift retreat. Solana wonders if maybe the hunking moving metal fortress was enough of an adherence that the Mandalorian would finally settle his guns and wait for an alternative, but she should have taken her own words from last night into account. When a Mandalorian sets their sights on a job, they commit themselves  _ fully. _

“ _ Fenedhis _ .” Solana curses to no one but herself, when what she really wants to offer is the advice of another plan to one so desperately in need of it. But much like her plan, that person in need is already quickly sliding down the sandy hills into the path of yet another rash idea. And only because the Child is forcibly tugged along for the ride, she has no other choice but to kick the sand from out of her boots and follow. 

As Solana chases the spectacle of a man taking on a metal fortress alone, she wonders at the great stories passed on to her of great Mandalorian battles. For a second, breath huffing as she keeps a steady jog beside a squealing child, she gives him the benefit of the doubt and thinks maybe what made those battles so great was the same quick thinking, fast-action, impulsive display that was being echoed before her now. Maybe there were still remnants of those ancestors of his guiding him, watching as he scales the tall expanse of an enemy compound and- 

The Mandalorian falls with a motionless thud guided by the gravity of great heights and even greater aspirations. She watches as his body meets the sand and knows that when her head shakes it’s with the accumulated disappointment of a thousand metal helms behind her. 

There’s a phrase her people save for those with a refusal to change their ways, and it echoes in her mind as she approaches the still form of her newly acquainted Mandalorian companion. Instead of letting it slip past her lips, she figures her presence to his failure was enough chastising alone, and bites her tongue as she offers her hand.

“Shall we return to the ship?” She asks as politely as she can as the Mandalorian hauls himself upwards. His armor is sparking in various parts, and when he stands it takes him a few seconds before he finds his grounding. When he finds it he looks at her, at her straight posture, and serious face, and it’s then she realizes he’s not taking any of it as sincerely as she hoped she was coming off. 

“Just say it.” The Mandalorian’s exhausted and deep voice is tinted with more static than usual when he speaks.

“Say what?” 

He sighs, tilts his head, and she wonders if he only wants to hear the words because he doesn’t want to admit them outloud himself. 

“I was trying to be civil.” Solana explains, and under her breath she adds. “Something I’m sure you can benefit from the next time you-“

“There it is.” The Mandalorian interrupts. 

Confused more so than offended, she asks. “There what is?”

“Honesty.” 

The Mandalorian walks forward, a slight limp that leaves him with a few steps. It dawns on her then, he doesn’t actually care about what she was gonna say to him, just that she was gonna say it. It wasn’t her good manners that had gotten her weapons back, he was just reminding her of that fact, and as she moves to join him she hopes he knows it’s not one she’ll forget anytime soon. 

_______

Solana doesn’t recognize the mutilated corpse of the Mandalorian’s ship upon their return to it, it’s remaining parts too outdated and busted to place it as anything being sold in current markets, but she’s certain that even with all it’s innards still attached, it was still just barely scratching the surface of functionality. Still, she understands attachment, even if the Mandalorian wouldn’t say the word. She knows that his frustrations at having lost his ship strains from more than just practicality, and she also knows that his quick disregard to her suggestion that they just use her own ship for their journey, as quick of a solution as it was, had less to do with his still wavering trust towards her, and more to do with the familiar feeling that festers in a person’s chest after having lost something that made them whole. 

So they walk, yet again through the plains of the desert planet towards the homestead of a person she had nothing to base her trust on except the assurance of a man she had still to know the name of. Even though her calves were already flaming with the extra effort, and what little supplies she had packed in her pockets were beginning to dwindle, she follows the Mandalorian to what she hopes would not be just another rash plan, because as long as the Child was still under his temporary care, she really didn’t have another choice.

There was nothing for miles, nothing but sand peeking over sand until suddenly, just over the horizons of another dwindling day, the silhouette of a distant structure. 

Solana’s eyes widen at the sight. “A Moisture Farm.” She states, to no one but herself, with an excitement she was positive was hers alone to bask in. 

The Mandalorian hums inquisitively beside her, a more subtle way of saying,  _ duh, what about it?  _ She doesn’t blame him for the confusion, she knows her enthusiasm over something so common to the Outer Rim is unwarranted, but she had only just recently been named an _ Eolas’esayelan,  _ a seeker, and for all her knowledge there were still many things she had yet to see in this life. 

“I’ve never seen one before.” She explains, her sluggish steps now full with intent as they approach. “On my homeworld we had no need for the practice. I cannot lie, I’m eager to see how they work.” 

“Your homeworld? Where is it?” The Mandalorian asks, a hint of amusement behind the question. Much like her curiosity, his own is innocent enough she knows, but she can’t stop the paranoia that sparks up at the question, the sudden tension that had been built in to her from a history she couldn’t expect him to know about. He had asked her for honesty, she knows, but there were some things that went beyond trust. 

“A place with much more life.” Solana answers simply, and hopes he doesn’t pick her words apart for the cover that they were. She doesn’t give him the chance adding, “Still, I can’t help but be excited finding it where it’s least expected.” 

The Mandalorian huffs. “The Ugnaught’s presence here was definitely not expected.” 

Solana raises a brow, sensing a story hidden in his tone. “A pleasant surprise?” He nods, and she can’t help but smile expectantly. “They are admirable workers, you seem like someone who would appreciate that.” 

“I-“ The Mandalorian stutters over his own words, silences his original thought and tries again. “He is.” He agrees, and she knows he too is picking his words carefully to hide something. 

Solana doesn’t dig, at least not where he doesn’t want her to. Instead she focuses on the one word he keeps repeating. “ _ He _ ?” She asks. “Is he alone?” 

The Mandalorian nods. “He prefers it that way.”

Solana shakes her head solely to herself. Ugnaughts were a people who worked better together, that much she knew to be universally true amongst all species. “Nobody  _ prefers _ to be alone.” She corrects him, eyeing the structure before them with a new light. “They might end up that way but-” and the words die on her lips as she realizes who she’s talking to. She spares a quick glance towards what could very well be the last of his kind. He doesn’t look at her, gaze focused on what lies ahead, and she doesn’t continue talking. A Mandalorian didn’t need to be reminded of the circumstances of being alone. 

The rest of their walk to the farm is spent in silence, Solana distracts herself with the sounds of the Child’s coos and goes over a list of priorities to check off once they reach their shelter.  _ Get the Child food, Learn the Ugnaught’s name, Ask him for a tour, Thank him for his hospitality _ . Somewhere in that list she’s sure the Mandalorian would work in a plan for the return of his parts, if there was a plan to be made, but she doesn’t have the time to fully think about it when a new voice calls out to them. 

“Welcome back!” An older voice greets them, not at all concerned about the presence of two new faces. When Solana turns towards the sound, she finds the Ugnaught to look as wise as he sounded, a man well adjusted to life. He had been working at a tool bench when he spotted them, and was making the small trek from there to them now, and the closer he got the more Solana felt at ease with the kindness that she could map on his tired face. 

“I thought you had died, instead your party grows with two lives.” The Ugnaught continues, pointing towards her and the Child. “So tell me, is she the one who’s been causing all the fuss?” 

The Mandalorian quickly intervenes. “Not the kind you’re referring to.” He jokes, and in her shock Solana almost forgets to be offended. “The little one is the one I was sent here for.” 

The Ugnaught nods, eyeing the Child the same way it was eyeing him, all curiosity and acceptance. “Something so small making all that noise.” He reflects, shaking his head with a resigned sigh. His eyes find their way back to her. “Still, it is good the bounty isn’t yours, I’m sure your people would not take it kindly.” 

Solana’s shock is so apparent, she can’t hide it from her face even if she tried. “You know of my people?” She asks in complete disbelief. If it had been years ago, maybe she’d believe it. Before when they had traveled freely, when they had shared their teachings to those willing to listen, when there were still people willing to listen. Before they had been forced into secrecy, into hiding, into death. 

“ _ An’daran Atish’ an. _ ” The Ugnaught answers with a common greeting, and the excitement in Solana only heightens even despite the slightly wrong pronunciation. “Forgive me. It’s been a while.” 

Solana shakes her head incredulously. “ _ En’an’sal’en.”  _ She returns the greeting fully with its proper response. Grateful in more ways than one. “I am just surprised you’ve heard of us from all the way out here.” 

“I have not always been out here, and I have lived long enough to have seen many faces.” He reminds her. “The branding on yours is not one I’d easily forget. Funny that I’d be seeing it again alongside a Mandalorian.” 

Solana had almost forgotten about the Mandalorian’s presence beside her, the man himself quietly observing their conversation as it went on. She knows what the Ugnaught means, they were a rare sighting by itself, even more so when one was given context. She thinks maybe the Mandalorian was just starting to pick up on the bits and pieces of that now. 

“Yes, well, it seems the Galaxy is a much smaller place than one would think.” Solana shrugs, eyeing the Mandalorian and waiting for an input. He doesn’t give her one, just stares unaffected. The Ugnaught laughs agreeably, breaking the tension, and she’s reminded of one of the items on the to-do list she had hastily made on the quick trip over. “As small as it is, there’s always something new to greet.” She smiles holding out her hand to the shorter man, which he shakes with a firm hold. “Solana.” 

“Kuiil.” He returns, but he too could not ignore the presence of their silent observer. Kuiil’s gaze is just beyond her shoulder when he speaks again. “Is there a reason why you are back here, and not collecting your reward?” 

The reminder of the bounty leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, one that stops Solana from speaking. In her place the Mandalorian is quick to reply, and as the talk returns to business, she can’t help but return to the one responsibility that outweighed it all. The Child coos up at her and the sudden attention she gives him, his arms reaching upwards from the bundled mass of it’s soft coat. She could have left with him, had thought about it many times as the Mandalorian laid unconscious in the sand, with no means of transportation to chase after her. She could have been gone before he had the time to rise, but all thoughts of leaving him had been drowned out long before that opportunity rouse, the attack in the valley was just a reminder. The Child would not be safe in just her care alone, not when there was still a league of bounty hunters chasing after him. Not when there was still someone in this galaxy who was willing to chase after him the same way she would. Truth was she needed the Mandalorian, they both did, and for as much as the man felt she was hiding from him, it was he who kept secret the most valuable piece of information. 

“Jawas destroyed my ship.” The Mandalorian grumbles, and to save herself from unwarranted comments Solana busies herself with the child, lifting him from the white cradle and settling him on the floor. 

She’s only half listening to the conversation, more amused with the way the child is eager to stretch his tiny legs. He pays her no mind as he explores, and she can’t help but smile at his curiosity, reminded of the same enthusiasm with which her people had built themselves on. They were explorers, scholars, appreciators of life, she sees the same reflected in the child’s eyes each time she looks at him. There was a light there she knew would only flourish in a proper home, but much needed to be done before she could give that to him. Right now, all she can offer him is the leftover bits of dried Jogan fruit from her supplies and hope it’s enough to settle the rumble in his stomach. 

“We will trade with the Jawas for your parts.” Kuiil announces, and Solana’s interest finally returns, picking herself up from the floor as the child busies himself with the food. 

“That’s not a bad idea.” Solana chimes in, to which the Mandalorian shakes his head. “Oh, was that fall not enough to steer you to a more diplomatic approach?” 

“Jawas don’t understand diplomacy.” He argues, a bitterness to his tone she can’t help but pick apart. “Besides, I shouldn’t have to barter for my own parts.” 

“Still, there is no other choice.” Kuiil reminds him, to which Solana nods in agreement and the Mandalorian stubbornly relents. “I will take you to them.” 

“Now?” Solana interjects, the ache of a long walk just beginning to catch up to her now that she’s had the time to rest. Kuiil nods and now she finds herself protesting. “I’ll stay here with the Child then, we both could use the rest. Besides, Jawas trade in people just as easily as parts. I’d rather not have him be made part of the deal.” 

"That’s not gonna happen.” The Mandalorian insists. 

“The deal? Or the staying?” 

“Both.” 

Solana sighs. “Mando, you asked for my honesty, and I’m telling you this isn’t-“ 

“The Child is still my bounty, and you are still my prisoner.” He reminds her. “You’ll do as I say.” 

_ Prisoner _ . Solana can’t help but frown at the word. Technically, she has no reason to be mad, he was right after all. For as much freedom as he elected to give her, she was still only along for the ride as long as he wanted her to be, but that wasn’t the cause for his sudden mood change. He was frustrated, losing his hold on a situation he was just barely gripping the threads of. But if he wanted to find his footing, it wouldn’t be on her neck.

“In that case, you should consider making a pair of new cuffs a part of the transaction.” Solana dryly replies, and when she turns she finds the Child giggling and chasing after native frogs. The scene reminds her of his grumbling stomach. “And some rations, unless you’ve changed your mind about the state of your bounty as well?” 

The Mandalorian quickly shifts his gaze to the Child, expecting the worst. It’s enough to prove her point, he wasn’t frustrated with them, just the situation. Solana wasn’t a child, just an uninvited guest with a personality as stubborn as her host, and if need be she could handle the brunt of his irritation. She knows it for what it is, and no matter how steely his armor painted him to be, she knew there was something else just beginning to peek through the cracks. The Mandalorian had made the starting of a choice back at the compound, one he still had yet to complete. For the meantime, at least, Solana would just have to be contempt that he was still making the right one. 

“A compromise,” She offers watching as his gaze returns to her once he was sure of the Child’s safety. Jawas may not be so keen on diplomacy, but she wouldn’t be standing here now if this Mandalorian wasn’t too. “It’ll be raining soon. If Kuiil will have us, maybe we can wait here till morning. No need to risk the Child’s safety any further with a cold.” 

The Mandalorian doesn’t answer her right away, and behind the shadow of his visor she knows he’s scanning her face for any sign of ill-intent. 

“The journey will be safer.” Kuiil adds in agreement, and while Solana is appreciative for his input, her gaze never leaves the man before her. His doesn’t waver either. 

Solana finds her answer in a nod, a blink and she would have missed it. But she didn’t, and only when the tension settles does she allow herself to relax, smiling softly in acknowledgment and returning his confirmation with a nod of her own. 

No quicker than the settlement of the plan does it take to maneuver themselves into the safety of Kuiil’s home. The Mandalorian and Solana spend their evenings separate, she, repaying Kuiil’s hospitality by offering him a hand on the farm, and he, repairing the damages done to his armor in the privacy indoors. It’s only when Kuiil excuses himself, something about Blurrgs and their very specific diets, that she decides it’s time to retire as well. The rain hasn’t come yet, but she can see the warning signs beginning to gather in the form of dark clouds in the sky, it was only a matter of time now. 

At the shelter, Solana doesn’t know why her nerves beg her to hesitate at the door, something about having time to really think about the unpleasantries of their last conversation, and knowing there were still things to be settled between herself and the man she thought she had been making progress with. The tension doesn't sit right in the air, like the humidity that gathers before rain. She couldn’t make it disappear, she knows, the circumstances were too inevitable. All she can do now is cover herself as best as she could, and hope light showers don’t turn themselves into storms.

Solana knocks on the metal frame of the door, listening intently for the permission to come in. It’s quiet for a second before his growingly familiar voice announces himself, and she slides the metal frame to find him not so far away, sitting on a wooden cot with a rag in one hand and his rifle resting across his thighs. His armor still looks busted, not much could be done for that here, but at least he isn’t sparking with every occasionally fast turn. That wouldn’t have done him much good under heavy showers. 

Silence sits in the room like an old friend she’s sure the Mandalorian is far more acquainted with than she is. She couldn’t handle it’s presence for long, even less so when she had something on her mind. Her people had always been so loud and lively, their extroverted habits something she had been engraved with. Five minutes of silently standing across the room, looking around as if the many trinkets on Kuiil’s wall were enough to settle her thoughts. The Mandalorian would have to forgive her for it someday, but silence would never be a long welcomed guest in her presence. 

“Did you know female Blurrgs eat males after mating.” Solana blurts out, easing the silence out of the room with as much grace as a Wookie in a small space-craft. When a moment passes and he still doesn’t respond, she feels the room tighten around her much the same. 

Solana turns to the Mandalorian, her shoulders sagging. He’s ignoring her, purposefully. She can see his own frustrations spark around his helmet where the original malfunctions had once been. 

“You are mad at me.” She observes out loud, doesn’t need to ask when it was written all over his posture. Finally, a reaction, her words causing him to tense in a new way. Like a child having been caught in a troublesome act, the Mandalorian can do nothing but still his movements and wait for her direction. Also like a child, she can tell he doesn’t want to have this conversation. 

They are alone in the room, minus the lightly snoring infant in his cradle. The Child is unaware, and undisturbed by the growing tension, and yet the Mandalorian’s eyes do not leave his rifle, and neither do his fingers relent the cleaning rag from their tight grip. Since he is unwilling to make the first move, she will just have to do it for him.

Solana takes a step forward, careful, and much more closer. “You are mad about a lot of things.” She adds, another slow step forward that brings her just an arms length away. It’s enough of a move to show him this wouldn’t be dropped, and with a sigh he relents and drops his rag in exchange. 

“I could have left earlier.” She starts, getting to the quick and sharpened point. “When you were lying in the sand. For ten minutes I debated picking up the Child and running off to my ship, wouldn’t have been hard and wouldn’t have been far.” 

“Why didn’t you?” The Mandalorian finally looks up with the question, and even though she can’t see his eyes, she knows he’s been waiting to ask that for a while now. 

“For the same reason you didn’t shoot me at the compound.”

The Mandalorian visibly straightens, not only caught in a troublesome act now, but in the lie he tried to cover it with. Only, he didn’t know he was lying, just denying himself of the truth. Still, he seems to pick up on what she’s implying, and more importantly why she’s so keen on reminding him that there was a reason beyond material necessity or overall safety that had brought them together. 

“I’m not,” The Mandalorian pauses, and she can practically feel the exhale of tension as it leaves his body. He signs his words like an apology without ever writing them out. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just-“ 

“Disoriented.” She offers, and he accepts the word with a nod. “And you think I don’t feel the same?” 

The Mandalorian scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t think you’ve ever been less than five steps ahead of anyone.” 

A grin spreads across Solana’s face, the idea that the Mandalorian viewed her so definitively after only having traveled with her for two days meant he was paying as much attention as she was. 

“Not true.” She corrects, but her tone is playful, betraying any real sincerity. “If I recall correctly, I’ve spent the last day or so walking several steps behind you.” 

“You were never a prisoner.” The Mandalorian denies her answer with a shake of his head, fingers tapping on the frame of his rifle. He’s not just realizing this, she knows, he’s just finally saying it out loud. 

“Would you prefer it if I was?” 

“I’d prefer it if you were honest.” 

Solana sighs, head cocked to the side as if she would find the right way to answer in the shine of his helm. All she finds is the blur of the room staring back at her, and the unknowable void of his visor. The answer wasn’t with him, she knows, turning to find the still sleeping form of the Child. She didn’t know where their story would end, but at least they shared the same start. 

“I told you, my only concern is for the Child. I just- I didn’t know there would be so many others sharing the same _ interest _ .” Solana confesses, a bitterness lacing the last word because she knew whoever else was searching for the kid had, and would, do everything in their power to find him. She just didn’t know how far that power would go. 

“You keep saying that, but you haven’t told me why.” The Mandalorian asked.

“Why what?” 

“Why does the kid matter?” He leans slightly forward and she can’t tell if it’s out of curiosity, or that still lingering frustration. With him, they probably went hand in hand. “What makes it worth all this trouble?” 

“You’re only asking me that because you can’t ask  _ them _ . The people that hired you,” Solana states, wanting the Mandalorian to acknowledge what he’s been trying to deny since the compound. “You wanna know what they’re going to do with the Child once they have him?” 

The Mandalorian thinks that by not speaking, by not asking, that he’s covering any accusations of concern. He doesn’t realize just how loud his silence is. 

Solana nods, she won’t make him say it, she wouldn’t be so cruel. “Truthfully, I cannot speak on your employers intentions, but if they are willing to go through all this effort, then they must be amongst those few in the Galaxy who still believe in the importance of what this child possesses.” 

From her musing the Mandalorian finds the courage to speak. “The language of the universe.” He repeats, and it takes her mere seconds to realize who he was echoing the sentiment from. 

Solana nods, a smile spreading across her face in appreciation. She had sensed his curiosity back in the valley before it was squashed by a violent intrusion, but in the privacy of this room it had all the space to flourish. 

“My people know it as  _ ghilanas _ , the guiding soul, but others who study it have also referred to it as the Force.” She begins, and she can tell by the way the Mandalorian’s head tilts forward that he’s never heard of the term before, and it doesn’t surprise her not in any fault to his own intelligence, but because that was the way of the existence they lived in. Knowledge like that was a privilege many had to fight for, and a privilege many have also died to keep.

Solana tries to think back on her first teachings of the phenomenon, thinks of the simpler ways her  _ ghi _ ’ _ lin _ ’s had explained it to her when she was far too young to understand the complexities. The Mandalorian wasn’t young, but her time with him would be just as short in length, and for as much as she’d love to ramble about the concept with no end, this was neither the time do so, nor the person to do it with. 

“I called it the language of the universe, because it is something that is inside all things, living or dead. It’s what connects us, what moves us, and in some cases, with understanding and study, we can even find ways to move  _ it _ .” She explains, eyes briefly glancing towards the still sleeping form of the Child. Solana can feel the waves of a peaceful tranquility fill the space that stands between her and him, the same wave that had brought her to him like a beacon in the otherwise bleakness of this planet. “It’s a source of energy, it  _ is  _ energy, but while we all may have it, there are people in this world with a natural-born ability to use it, and an even fewer amount born with the potential to use it with as much power as he can.” 

Truthfully, she didn’t know of the power with which the little one could possibly possess. She hadn’t seen it yet, only felt the flow of it stirring like a steady hum around her. But the potential was there, she knew, and whoever else was looking for him must know it too. 

“The things the Child is capable of is beyond anything you’ve seen,” Solana speaks, looking the Mandalorian head on. “But even with all of that inside, he is still just a child, he can’t survive on his own. That is why I’m here.”

“For his powers?” The Mandalorian asks, and the way he says the word  _ power  _ makes it sound like he’s still not sure what it means. 

“ _ Because _ of his powers.” Solana corrects, her tone as serious as her words. “Because there are people out there who won’t see beyond them, and they’ll take advantage of those powers before he even knows what to do with them.” 

“And what?” He tilts his head, regarding her. “You know what he  _ should _ do with them?” 

Solana shakes her head, a soft smile to ease a concern she was sure he wasn’t even aware he was performing. “He will decide that on his own, eventually, I can’t make that choice for him.” She explains. “I can only try to make sure he gets the chance to.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and for a minute that feels like hours the only thing left to fill the space between her words and his thoughts is an encompassing silence. Solana lets it linger, lets the presence of it fill the room till she finds the same comfort in it that he did. It was a lot to process, she understands, so this time she lets him have it, and in place she imagines his response playing out before her in a million different ways before the reality settles in.

“So,” The Mandalorian drawls, leaning back in his chair as he does so. His helmet is tilted back, he’s looking down at her and she tries to not feel so small under his gaze, but even she can’t hide the shake that the anticipation brings out of her. “You know about  _ space magic _ but you’ve never seen a moisture farm?”

Solana’s eye’s can’t help but widen in shock, her mouth slightly agape because now she’s the one overwhelmed into silence. For the third time that day the Mandalorian had stumped her with his actions, reminding her that for all her intuition, there was still so much she didn’t know about the man behind the mask. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the past days, maybe it was the absolute train-wreck of events that had entirely shifted her initial plans, but when she looks at the man before her, the stranger behind a mask that hid more than just his face, she can’t help but lose herself in the starkness of his response. Losing her tension, the critical analyzation of her thoughts, and her overwhelming concerns. All that was left for her to do was laugh. 

So she does, and her laughter fills the room in a way the silence couldn’t compete with. She’s unashamed about the action, and maybe because it comes out so naturally from her the Mandalorian finds himself joining too. In his own way, easing into it the same way she had with his silence. His laughter is low and almost dismissible, but still present, and it’s the sight of it that lets Solana’s pride slip through, too stubborn to just have herself be the brunt of this strange moment of levity. 

“Says the Mandalorian who had been bested by Jawas.” She reminds him, and the sentence comes out almost choppy through the filter of her amusement. The sentiment is apparent still, and she knows now their bad blood is settled when he answers her teasing with a quick cough and a tilt of his head as if he’s trying to cover up his embarrassment. She’s sure he would have argued his point further if the sudden noise of the metal door hissing over hadn’t stilled his actions entirely. 

Kuiil walks in the room, a light drizzle following his steps before the door shuts the world behind him. The Mandalorian doesn’t tense at the man’s presence, but he’s no longer laughing, as light as it was, when the man appears, and if it weren’t for Solana’s lingering smile and reddened cheeks, the only crumb leftover from their talk would be the awkward air that fills the room with the sudden change of tone. 

“The rains finally pulling in.” Kuiil announces, saving them from a need to explain themselves, or at least he’s saving the Mandalorian. There’s a twinkle there in Kuiil’s eye that Solana can’t miss, and when the man walks further in, passing her by with a reassuring pat to her shoulder, she knows he can sense that the rain wasn’t the only thing that’s changed in the air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops it's a long one huh..
> 
> Fenedhis- Damn/Fuck/A bad word 
> 
> Eolas’esayelan- knowledge seeker
> 
> An’daran Atish’ an- Greetings; My place is safe
> 
> En’an’sal’en- Blessings
> 
> ghi’lin- Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> If you can guess the language I'm so blatantly stealing, you get extra brownie points!!
> 
> Halam’shivanas- To do ones duty to the end.


End file.
